


Overselling it

by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, Don't read if you are part of the CR cast or crew, Edgeplay, Edging, Light Bondage, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Underdiscussed kink, implied polynein
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22573786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife
Summary: Fjord is manacled and being led by a chain by Essek. He should probably be on his best behaviour, instead of yelling insults at him. But Fjord likes testing his luck.--AKA porn based on the floaty fuck scene. I will not apologize for art.
Relationships: Fjord/Essek Thelyss
Comments: 9
Kudos: 206





	Overselling it

**Author's Note:**

> Technically Essek is trans in this, it just barely comes into play.  
> I know I always say it's not a rarepair unless you have to start the AO3 tag yourself, but this one only had an unrequited fic in it, so I think it counts.  
> No beta, we die like men.

There is no denying that Essek Thelyss is attractive. His face is gorgeous and symmetrical, all sharp cheekbones and full lips, the dark skin between indigo and purple, the courteous, polite smile hiding pointy fangs. There is power in his eyes, an intelligence combined with a lethal curiosity. To be exposed to his gaze is to subject oneself to be examined, judged and picked apart. Caleb is not the only one who is tempted.

They’ve all talked about it, whispering even if the Shadowhand was nowhere to be seen. One never knows what could end up in the wrong scrying eyes and ears. Nott whispers it in Caleb’s ear as she puts a hand down his pants, _Wouldn’t you like him to be in my place?,_ and the fire wizard bites his lip to stall a needy whimper. Jester has three of Yasha’s fingers inside her, and she comments in a low voice _Wouldn’t_ _it be nice if he were here to shut me up with his cock?,_ and Beau kisses her because clearly her mouth is too idle. The monk is unaffected, but she sees the appeal for her bed companions. Caduceus mumbles to Fjord, _We should invite him over, so he can join you inside me_ , and it pushes Fjord right over the edge, makes him cum deep in the wet heat of Caduceus’ body.

They are just fantasies, comments during sex or over dinner, half-disguised thirst from six people who should be more than sated. And they are. But they have a taste for the finer things, and an appetite to match.

When it’s decided that Fjord should be the one to go into the depths of the Dungeon of Penance, none of them stop to think how nice he will look all chained up. After all, he’s disguised as their enemy, so no one appreciates the display. But Fjord doesn’t see himself. It takes him a while, focused as he is on the mission at hand, to notice how snugly the iron wraps around his wrists, how much it limits the reach of his arms. There is a chain connecting him to Essek, who is leading him like he’s a dog on a leash. _I’m at his mercy_ , he thinks, _he could do anything he wanted with me_. Like tug him so harshly that he falls on the floor, so he needs to crawl after him. Like tie him to a post and have his way with him unhindered. Like force him on his knees and choke him on his cock.

These thoughts run around his head, waking his arousal and filling his dick with blood. It hangs heavy between his legs, already half-hard when they reach the cell. Essek stops in front of him before opening the door, hiding him from the guards, and adjusts the manacles so they are not so tight. He winces when he sees the pale mark that they have already left on Fjord’s wrists, running his thumb in a gentle caress over them. The gesture paradoxically pulls him away from his fantasies of Essek having his wicked way with him and helps him concentrate on the plan.

By the time that the Taskhand passes out, his arousal has waned considerably, but it rekindles when Essek comes back into the room and takes his chain again. Fjord cannot resist the playful instinct of behaving like a brat; he lets himself be dragged from the cell but he offers some resistance for the benefit of both the guards and the Taskhand, who could be feigning unconsciousness.

He yells at him. “Oh, you’re so strong!” It comes out breathy and far too honest, a lie in a lie coming full circle to the truth. Fjord hasn’t seen Essek use his strength against him yet, but he can’t wait to see it happen. The teasing makes something in Essek’s expression ripple, too undefined for Fjord to put a name to it.

He tugs at his chains, _hard_ , making him stumble. “You’re overselling it,” he admonishes as soon as they’re out of earshot from the guards.

Fjord has sniffed a weakness, though, a chink in the armor, and he’s determined to sink his claws into it and rip the Shadowhand’s composure wide open. “You bastard,” he gasps with bigger histrionics.

Essek continues floating forward, not even dignifying to glance back. “You’re overselling it,” he repeats with a hint of a warning, a touch of steel to his voice. The manacles grow suddenly heavy, and they drag Fjord’s hands down. He manages to bring them back to waist-level with considerable effort, but it only spurs his resolution to stretch the Essek’s patience one last time. They seem to be alone in this hallway, with no one to hear a lowly prisoner disrespect the Shadowhand of the Queen.

“You floaty fuck!” he yells, and it echoes, bounces off the empty walls, reverberates.

Essek stops. Fjord cannot see his face, but the sudden stillness screams of danger. A sense of dread mixed with excitement curls on the back of his neck, making him shiver. The thick atmosphere of the prison, the disjointed way in which time seems to go by, has dulled his senses and made his mind foggy. Maybe it was a mistake, to tease someone as powerful as Essek while being so helpless, but the fear of retribution only fans the heat inside of him, filling his cock completely. He readies himself to apologize, or plead for mercy, or beg for something else entirely, but he doesn’t have time to form a single word.

He is violently slammed against a wall, the impact making him exhale all the air from his lungs. He is prevented from taking any more by a forearm that is suddenly crushing his windpipe. He wants to shove it off, but the chain linked to his arms is pulling them down, fisted in Essek’s other hand. The expression in the Shadowhand’s face is thunderous, but also amused. There is a predatory glint to his eyes, like a cat who has managed to corner a particularly annoying mouse and is planning to play with it for a while before crushing it between his teeth.

“What. Was. That?”

His voice is steady and no louder than a whisper, but it is clear as a bell. It’s a warning and a threat, enticing and terrifying. Fjord mouths out without a sound, with no air to answer, and Essek lightens the chokehold a little so he can breathe. He shifts his position as Fjord gasps, pinning him more effectively, and in doing so his knee comes to rest directly on Fjord’s crotch, right against his hard cock. The sudden pressure right where he wants it tears a needy moan out of the half-orc.

Essek shifts his knee against the hard line under Fjord’s clothes again, this time searching for a reaction. His expression has lost its edge, and is now open and confused, raw in its surprise. He looks up from the now unresisting body, submissive under his grasp, to Fjord’s face. Fjord is not making eye contact, face turned slightly to the side and looking at the ceiling, a terrified smile frozen on his lips. At this distance it’s impossible not to notice how his pupils are blown wide, how his breath is ragged and almost panting. Essek takes a deep breath and the stench of arousal coming from the other almost brings him to his knees. His expression morphs to one of curiosity as he tilts his head, considering. Slowly, a smug grin overtakes his features, and the predatory mask slips back into place.

“My, my. It seems like _someone_ is hungry for punishment.”

Fjord risks a quick look to the drow’s face, then looks away just as quickly, not wanting to seem defiant. He has an inkling that things can end up going very well for him, but only if he bites his tongue a little and obeys. He bows his head in submission, and winces as he feels a drop of precum beading on the head of his cock. It smears into the fabric when Essek shifts his knee once again, more as a tease than a means to provide any satisfaction.

“I’ll be good,” Fjord promises, breathless.

Essek clicks his tongue. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you agree?”

He hovers backwards, severing all points of contact between their bodies. Before Fjord can react, though, the manacles yank his arms above his head, the chain defying gravity on its own, getting lost in the shaded ceiling of the prison. His feet are still on the ground, but he’s flush against the wall, pulled taut, unable to separate from it by more than a couple of inches. He tugs on the chain, testing it, but it is completely unmovable. It makes him even harder.

“Drop your disguise.”

Fjord complies without delay. He doesn’t feel his physicality change, but he knows that now he is truly exposed to Essek, displayed in his true form. Essek watches him squirm patiently. With his body hidden by the mantle and the iron-clad control on his features, there’s no way to see if he’s even affected by Fjord’s state. He looks at the half-orc methodically, his eyes tracing every inch of his body, from the bound hands, down the taut arms, the shamelessly open mouth, the bulky torso, the bulge in his pants, to the slightly parted legs. As silence stretches between them, Fjord begins to panic. What if he decides to leave him there, hanging in the literal and metaphorical sense? What if he’s disgusted by Fjord being turned on during what should be a very serious situation?

Some of his anxiety must show on his face, because Essek’s cold mask of indifference falls, eyes widening in worry. He floats forward again and places one hand over Fjord’s racing heart. “Do you want to be released?” he asks without a hint of judgment.

“No, I’m…no.” Fjord takes a deep breath, forces himself to relax. Essek moves his hand up to rest on his shoulder and lightly caresses Fjord’s neck with his thumb. The touch grounds him, brings him back to his previous state of mind, floaty and calm. Once he has relaxed sufficiently, Essek withdraws, hand falling hidden under the mantle once more.

“If at any point you want to stop, just say the word ‘Luxon’, understood?” His tone is soft, but it has the firmness of an order.

Fjord nods. His anxiety has subsided, but there’s still a little nervousness left. “Are you going to fuck me?” He needs the confirmation, to be sure that he’s wanted.

There’s another ripple on Essek’s face, and now Fjord can see that it is nothing but pure lust. But he gives him a half-smile, shrugging. “Sadly I left my cock at home today, so we’ll have to think of something else.”

It reassures Fjord enough, even if he’s a little disappointed. He makes a mental note to do his best to make this a good experience for Essek, so that there will be another occasion to actually get fucked by him.

After the brief check-in is concluded, Essek’s expression goes back to his usual detached amusement. Today he is floating high enough to be a good five inches higher than Fjord, so he has to bend a little to put his mouth at level with Fjord’s ear. “Tell me,” he whispers, tantalizingly close to him but without making contact, “do you enjoy being at my mercy?”

Fjord quickly turns his head and lurches sideways, trying to catch his mouth in a kiss, but Essek is too fast for him, retreating with an indulgent laugh. “Fuck,” Fjord curses, frustration turning it into a growl.

“Cheeky,” Essek says, voice full of promise. “I wonder what I should do to make you behave.”

He waves his fingers and the chain tugs Fjord up a few more inches, making him stand on his tiptoes. Fjord grunts, his shoulders complaining about the strain. The light pain gives him a strange sort of focus, lowers his cognitive functions and makes him into something more pliable. He drinks in the drow’s image, still composed, still so damnably unaffected by this whole thing. And it makes his legs quiver. He’s the picture of power, of control. It makes him want to stop playing and truly submit. He _is_ at his mercy. He might as well enjoy it.

He breaks eye contact and bows his head again. “I’m sorry, sir.” Using the word sends a tingling down his body, straight to his cock. “It won’t happen again.”

The epithet seems to please Essek, because a moment later his long-fingered hands begin deftly undoing the clasps of Fjord’s cape and armor. Some of the pieces cannot be completely removed in his current bound state, so Essek lets them hang where they may. He rucks up Fjord’s shirt over his head and leaves it there, arms still covered, and providing a slight barrier between the wall and the back of his head. The cold air of the dungeon makes him shiver when it hits his exposed torso. Essek’s hand comes up to his cheek and caresses down his neck, over his pecks and down to the slight chub of his belly, admiring the expanse of two-toned green skin. His light touch is almost electric, and it makes Fjord want to squirm. But he can tell that Essek expects him to stay still, and he can be good. He wants so badly to be good.

Without warning, Essek’s hand comes to rest on his nipple and he pinches it hard, drawing a sudden intake of breath from Fjord. He passes his thumb over it in a caress to soothe it right after, and brings his mouth close to Fjord’s ear again.

“You will only come with my permission.” He bits his lobe hard, but not enough to draw blood, and it makes goosebumps rise up his neck. “And you will beg.” The last part is not a command, but a prediction.

Fjord doesn’t doubt it. The words are already on the tip of his tongue, only held back by a rapidly dwindling sense of embarrassment. Essek hasn’t touched his cock, apart from the brief initial contact that revealed Fjord’s state to him. The heady feeling of the Shadowhand’s nibbling on his neck as he rolls his nipple between his fingers is enough to shatter his dignity to pieces.

“Please,” he rasps. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, grazing the tip of one of Essek’s fangs.

Essek scoffs, delighted. “So soon?” His hand moves to the other nipple, pinching it hard as well. Fjord arcs slightly off the wall. “What is it that you want?”

“Anything,” he whines, “pressure. Your hand, or…anything.” He knows he’s barely coherent, but his brain is incapable of forming any sentences. It feels like he’s going to die if Essek doesn’t touch his dick soon.

There’s a chuckle right against his ear. “Part your legs further.”

Fjord hastens to obey. His stance becomes less steady, but he is in no danger of falling due to the restraints, should his legs fail. Essek’s body hovers closer, until he’s flush with Fjord, and he moves one of his legs between Fjord’s thighs. Fjord whimpers as it makes contact with his cloth-covered cock, and his breath breaks into uneven, hitching pants. He resists the urge to rut against it, waiting for permission. He waits, and waits, and waits. He lets out a choked-off sound out of frustration, but he staunchly refuses to move. Essek is kissing his neck, languid and unhurried.

“Good job,” he purrs. He moves his leg slightly, up and down, and it brings tears to Fjord’s eyes. “You have to tell me when you’re close. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“You can move.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hips spring from the wall as he thrusts forward, starting to grind against Essek’s thigh at a fast pace. He doesn’t care that he’s debasing himself, rutting like an animal, showing all the beastly instincts that he’s tried to repress his whole life. Essek trails kisses up from his neck, over his cheek, until reaching his mouth. Fjord kisses him back hungrily, fangs and tusks clashing in an unrefined dance, biting and sucking and drinking the other in. The drow pulls back his head for a moment, and Fjord can see blood beading on his lip where one of his tusks has nicked him. Essek prods the wound with his tongue and his smile turns feral, the heat in his eyes glowing brighter. He kisses Fjord again with the same enthusiasm, the taste of iron incensing them both. Fjord wants to sink his teeth into the Essek’s throat, bruise up his dark skin bad enough to show, but he knows he will not be doing such marking today. Maybe if he’s lucky, Essek will do it to him before their encounter is over. He keeps moving his hips, desperately chasing his own release. It shouldn’t be enough, at his age, at his level of experience, but he’s getting close to coming in his pants like a teenager.

He remembers Essek’s request just in time. “I’m close, I’m…” he sputters. Only a handful of more thrusts will suffice at this point.

To his despair, he doesn’t get the chance to come. As soon as he speaks, Essek takes a step back –when had he stopped floating? –, breaking completely away from him, and leaving him to hump the air helplessly. He cries out, and he sounds like a dying creature.

“Not yet, pet.” Essek smiles deviously from two feet away. His breathing is fast, his pupils are pitch dark and there’s a dark purple flush dusting his cheeks and his long, pointy ears, but he looks to be in complete control. “Patience has its rewards.”

Fjords stops moving and gradually quiets the desperate whines coming from his mouth. Two fat tears make their way down his cheeks. Essek comes closer again and wipes them out with his thumbs, framing his face with his hands. He leans forward so that Fjord cannot touch the rest of his body and gives him a gentle, close-mouthed kiss. Then another, and another one. Fjord takes a few deep breaths, desperation abating somewhat under the sweet kisses, but his cock is still painfully hard.

“You did very well, telling me in time,” Essek praises him, hands sliding down his naked torso. “I think you deserve a reward.”

His hands reach Fjord’s breeches and he unties them. He pulls them and the underwear down to his knees, letting Fjord’s cock spring free. It stands against his stomach, the head glistening with smeared precum. It should embarrass him, maybe, to be exposed like this in the middle of this hallway, where a guard on a patrol could pass by at any time, but he’s too far gone to care. Essek is right there with him, beautiful and steady, and he’s giving his cock an appreciative look. He runs his hand up Fjord’s thigh until he reaches it. He pumps it up and down in slow, loose movements. Fjord bites his lip to stop himself from asking for a tighter grip. He can feel his legs tremble.

“Same deal as before,” Essek says in a detached, almost medical tone. “When you feel yourself getting close, you have to warn me.” His other hand goes to trace circles on one of his nipples, soft instead of punishing.

Fjord almost lets out a sob at the thought of being denied again, but he nods anyway, closing his eyes to keep more tears from falling. Essek’s movements don’t resemble in any way to the way Fjord plays with himself, or the way that anybody else has ever touched him. They are more like caresses than strokes, like pets, almost as if he was spreading lotion on his skin instead of trying to bring him off. His fingers dance around Fjord’s cock, never tight enough, sometimes going down to caress his balls. He runs his palm over the head of the cock and down its side, gentle and teasing. However, it does _something_. Even though the stimulation is minimal, it builds up, almost creeping up on him, and soon he’s back to panting and moaning. In just a couple of minutes he’s back on the edge. It takes him a monumental effort to not let himself be dragged over it, like he so badly wants.

“I’m close,” he admits in a defeated tone.

Immediately Essek takes his hand away, but he stays close. He kisses him again, a slow drag of lips and tongue, to distract him from his twitching, aching member. After a minute or so, he starts touching him again, but Fjord has to repeat his warning shortly after. It starts a dance of give and take; he’s so on edge, that he can only take a few of those maddeningly teasing strokes before he’s back to the brink. He sticks to the command, letting Essek know every time he’s about to lose control, and every time Essek stops right before he can tip over. Fjord is a mess, stomach quivering, losing his footing every now and then, face marred with tears. He is fighting to keep his resolve and hoping that he doesn’t go insane. He has lost count of how many times he has been about to come. Five? Eight? He’s too far gone to know even how long they have been here, how long he’s been chained to this wall, at the Shadowhand’s mercy. All of the sudden, the urge crashes over him again, more overwhelming than any time before.

“M’close,” he pants. Essek’s hand jumps away, but it feels like too late. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come, I’m sorry, I’m, ngggggg…”

The wave crests, but nothing happens. The pleasure, which was so close, finally within his reach, doesn’t come. He feels his cock feebly dribble some semen that runs down the shaft. He cries out in frustration, and is silenced by Essek cramming three fingers into his mouth. He sucks on them avidly to distract himself, not minding the taste of his own precum, and resists the temptation to bite down. His cock is still rock hard, aching more than ever, and Fjord is confused about what has even happened.

“You are doing so well. I know it’s painful, but you have to hold on for just a little longer. Can you do that for me?” Essek’s voice drips with pride, and Fjord clings to it desperately. He wants to keep earning his approval more than he wants to climax properly. He closes his eyes, takes a few more deep breaths, and nods. Essek kisses his forehead as a reward. “Such a good boy for me.”

The next time he puts his hand on Fjord’s cock, it feels more purposeful. He forms a circle with his fingers (still not tight enough), and concentrates on stimulating the head, rolling around it over and over, ignoring his balls and the rest of his cock. He picks up the spunk that dribbled out with his other hand and rubs it into his thighs and belly, giving him gentle pets. When his hand is cleaner, he brings it up to rest against Fjord’s nape, clasping it. The pressure steadies him, alleviating some of the tension he had been feeling.

“I know that gorgeous cock of yours can handle it. You have been behaving so well for me. But it’s not over yet.”

Fjord whines involuntarily, but he nods. He’s good, he can be good, he can…

“Will you let me know, when you’re close again?”

“Yes, sir,” he answers eagerly. His voice is wrecked.

Essek draws a predatory smile. “Good boy.”

Fjord has to ask him to stop right then. Essek is smug when he sees what sort of effect praise has on him, but Fjord is now truly beyond shame. It’s hard to think about anything beside the imperious need to come, especially when Essek resumes his ministrations a moment later. The come and spit make the glide of his fingers easier, but he keeps paying attention only to the head.

After a couple more times, everything starts becoming a blur for Fjord. His arousal has turned painful, frustration mounting with every stop. His legs can barely support his weight anymore, and he relies on the manacles more and more to bear it, despite the strain to his shoulders and wrists. Exhaustion seeps into his every pore.

“Please. Sir, I don’t think… _please_.” His tongue, dry and swollen, sticks to the roof of his mouth, and he tries clearing his throat before continuing. “I don’t know how much longer I can continue.”

“Very well,” Essek says, and Fjord lets out a shuddering breath when he doesn’t hear disappointment in his voice. “You’ve done admirably so far. You can let go, I’ll be here to catch you.” He wraps his hand fully around Fjord’s cock.

It almost makes Fjord sob with gratefulness. His cock is terribly oversensitive, but he relishes the full, quick strokes, with the proper _grip_. Essek’s mouth is back on his neck, kissing and biting, his fangs catching on his skin every so often, and his other hand is teasing at his nipples. The stimulation is finally enough, and he feels his climax approaching rapidly. He doesn’t dread it this time; Essek keeps touching him when it hits, spurting come all over his hand. The rush is indescribable, the joy of finally being allowed to release mixing with the sheer pleasure of it. It’s overwhelming, it’s cathartic, it’s earth-shattering. He moans out loud, uncaring of who hears, and whimpers when Essek keeps pumping him after the initial release, making sure it’s all out. By the end of it his hand is almost completely covered in spunk. Essek brings it to his own mouth and licks his fingers clean while looking directly into Fjord’s eyes. Fjord’s cock gives a valiant twitch at the sight.

Essek prestidigitates the rest of the mess away and signals the chain to start coming down. Fjord, who was relying on it to stay upright, slides down the wall until his ass hits the floor. He wants to bask in his post-orgasmic haze, but he’s very aware that Essek has yet to be pleasured in any way. He struggles to his knees and opens the flaps of the mantle. Essek’s hands catch his as he goes to paw at his pants.

“Fjord, what are you doing?” he asks, completely baffled.

“Returning the favor,” he mumbles. He’s more tired than he’s ever been, but the idea of eating Essek out is making his mouth water.

“This was not a transaction, Fjord,” Essek says softly, a wrinkle of concern between his eyes, worried that the half-orc might have interpreted it that way. His usual aloof amusement returns a second later, and he smiles smugly. “Besides, do you really think I didn’t get anything out of that? I’d wager I had more fun than you did.”

“Touché.” Fjord chuckles. “But I still would really, really like to taste you.”

Essek hesitates, his hands loosening his grip on Fjord’s a little, but a moment later he helps him to his feet. “You’re in no condition to do that today,” he explains a little sadly.

“Another day, then,” Fjord suggests casually, but hoping for an affirmative answer with everything he has.

Essek is not looking at him, helping him pull his pants up again, but Fjord can see him smile a little, vulnerable and unsure. “I suppose I would not be opposed to that,” he replies with the same falsely nonchalant tone.

“It’s a date then,” Fjord insists, a little more forceful, something in his chest fluttering.

Essek’s smile seems genuinely happy now, and he nods once.

He takes off Fjord’s manacles so that he can put his armor back on more easily, and frowns when he sees that the previous slight marks on his wrists have turned into wounds. “I’m sorry, I should have been more mindful.”

Fjord shrugs. “Oh, it’s fine, the braces will cover it.”

“No, I mean…” Essek sighs, disappointed in himself. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I don’t have any healing spells, but…”

“It’s fine. You left some marks. That’s…” he looks for the right word, knowing his cheeks are heating up again. “That’s nice,” he finishes a bit pathetically.

Essek’s eyebrows shoot up. “Okay, then.” He swallows thickly. “Good to know.”

Fjord tilts his head, fixing him with a lecherous grin. “Offer still stands.”

“Get dressed,” Essek huffs, curt. “Your friends will be wondering what's taking us so long.”

Fjord chuckles. Essek helps him get presentable again, fussing about his weakened state. He resolves to extend his levitation spell to him, at least until they are at the prison’s door, to avoid putting any more strain on his body. Fjord finds it endearing. He knows that the rest of the Nein will have questions, and they will tease him to eternity when they find out what happened, but he finds that he doesn’t care all that much. He feels lighter than he has felt in a long, long time.


End file.
